


i'll crawl home to him

by Drake, Ghrelt



Series: we're meant to find each other [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Drowning, Excessive Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Separation and Reunions, Torture, and then re...virgence? with the movie, canon-divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25398259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drake/pseuds/Drake, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghrelt/pseuds/Ghrelt
Summary: Joe and Nicky  are separated at Merrick labs, pulled apart to be tested apart.(bit of canon-divergence, though it finds its way back in the end)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: we're meant to find each other [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841152
Comments: 58
Kudos: 949





	i'll crawl home to him

**Author's Note:**

> Our buddy worriedsilent dug a thought in our heads and Ghrelt and I _finally_ (three years later) sat down to write a fic together, and this just came out. We hope you enjoy!
> 
> Comments feed us both and make us write like we've gone feral (seriously, 11 fics in 9 days from us combined?) so let us know if you enjoyed!

Oh, god. They’re taking him away. Nicky’s not sure why they even kept them together up to this point.

But now. Now they’re dragging him out of sight and  _ fuck _ . “Yusuf!” he calls out in his original Italian as all other languages flee his mind. “I  _ will _ see you again.” 

It is a promise, better than a love declaration. And it is the truth. He will  _ make _ it the truth.

But every breath lances through his chest worse than any death as he watches his everything disappear from view. And then Merrick turns to him with that slimy smile and holds up the letter opener that’s still dripping with Joe’s blood. “For science,” he says as they force Nicky to his knees.

Nicky doesn’t scream. He won’t give them the goddamn satisfaction. But he doesn’t quite manage to keep silent as air bubbles gurgle their way out of his chest and the pale prick just keeps stabbing, and stabbing, and stabbing.

Death is merciful sometimes.

Today, it gives him a brief reprieve.

When he wakes, it’s in a different room. Not a lab. Basement something. Then one of the men pulls out a pistol and it’s just pain and nothingness again.

He loses track of the places they kill him, and the ways. Most are unimaginative, thank god.

But getting kicked to death takes a long, long, agonising time, however cliché it may be. 

Nicky wakes exhausted after that one. Exhausted from the pain and the disorientation and having no clue where Joe or Andy or Booker is. Or Nile, for that matter. So new. So young, to be thrown into this mess.

He’s gone.

It hurts. More than any death. He thinks this might be like drowning. Like how Quynh felt for hundreds of years. Except she got to feel this  _ while _ drowning and that’s a horror his mind shies from even as he gasps for air in a room that doesn’t lack it.

More deaths. His shirt hangs off him before he wakes strapped to a bed in a lab. Shirt gone. Pants too. Naked under the sheet and there are many,  _ many _ implications he’d rather not think about.

He’s left alone there, in the white room with the stainless steel tables. With the little stool and the tools in the tray next to it. He’s seen tools like that before and the one using them never claimed ‘medicine’ or ‘science’.

Eventually, a woman walks in. She’s polite. Pleasant, even. She has all the excellent reasons for kidnapping him and Joe and separating them and running all sorts of  _ painful, invasive _ tests without their consent and Nicky goes so blazingly angry in the face of her platitudes, thrashing and spitting and ruining her  _ samples _ that she slices his carotid through with a scalpel and takes her samples as he bleeds out.

He doesn’t fight her for long, feeling his energy ebb with the hot, sticky-

Each time he wakes after that his limbs feel heavier. His breaths, slower. Too exhausted to fight, really.

Healing so much, so often takes a lot out of a person. Requires a lot of calories. And they’re not feeding him. Or haven’t yet.

He wonders if starving to death is something they want to ‘study’. 

Sleep is easier, from that point out, and he actively seeks it when he’s awake. Blinks soft rivers down his cheeks as he drifts, dreaming of a smiling face and shining eyes.

It feels wrong though. The arms. Where are the arms?

He wakes looking for them, more often than not. In his conscious mind or somewhere deeper. He always misses those arms.

Every time he wakes without them it hurts more than the last.

Hunger gnaws at him and he’s too proud or grief-stricken or livid to ask for food or water. Won’t give them the satisfaction.

Slowly, he wastes away. Physically and emotionally. Drifts there on the gurney somewhere in time and space, fading by degrees.

His gaze turns dull and he stops fighting them. Barely makes a sound as they take parts.

He hasn’t given up, but it looks to the lab techs that he has. Nicky still looks for an advantage every time he wakes. Just as soon as he’s convinced himself Joe isn’t there. But he hasn’t seen one yet.

So he waits. Bides his time for an advantage. Or rescue.

\---

That’s all Joe gets. As they drag his chair from the room and away from Nicky away from everything, away from the  _ only _ thing that matters, and he manages a desperate “ _ Nicolo _ !” before they cuff him over the head with the butt of a pistol.

The ringing in his ears almost drowns out that promise, the words that Nicky swears won’t be the last he hears of his voice. 

He snarls, thrashing against the restraints as if he hadn’t tried that already, been trying since he woke up, and he doesn’t even have enough leverage to break anything and slip from the straps holding him down. Joe rocks the chair, destabilizing it as they turn a corner, and the man at the foot of the chair decides he’s had enough. The last thing he hears is the sound of a gun going off and the searing agony through his head.

He wakes in the back of a car - they moved him fast, didn’t they? - before they shoot him again. Every time he wakes up he’s somewhere new, somewhere different. A conference room. An empty cafeteria. A library? Or an archive- he didn’t stay alive long enough to read the spines of the books before they blow his brains out onto them.

He can’t quite keep count after that. When he wakes in another lab, another facility, he’s strapped down and  _ chained _ down. Did he manage to snap that one man’s neck a few rounds back, then? He thought he had. He’ll do much worse when he can figure out how to get out. How to get back to Nicky. 

The wound in his chest refuses to heal, the hole that caved in as they dragged him off and all he saw was a glimpse of those panicked green eyes. Every time he wakes up and Nicky isn’t there the wound reopens anew. They don’t tell him where he is. Where Nicky is. They laugh, when he asks. 

The scientist who’s there the next time he wakes up - or is it the time after? He’s starting to lose track, lose whole lives, whole sections in time - doesn’t say anything either, no matter how much he asks. Begs. He’d beg if it meant they told him what they were doing to Nicky. 

They don’t.

What they do, however, do, is drag him up off the bed - now’s his chance, he thinks, trying to grab the man at his left and wrap a chain around his neck - and slam him into the ground hard enough that he hears something crack. 

And then they’re shoving him into a trough of water and they hold him down until he drowns. 

He wakes up in water, too. In a vertical tank of some kind - he can see the blur of movement in front of him, in flashes, and every single time, he drowns. It takes a few iterations for him to recognize that he’s shirtless, but not naked. Must have put up enough of a fight that they stopped stripping him. 

He’s not bound anymore, either. He becomes aware of that when he realizes he’s pounding against the glass, screaming, all air bubbles, and a tech startles, staring at him in horror. 

Worse, he doesn’t see Nicky in the room. He doesn’t see him and he keeps waking up drowning and it’s just a  _ sliver _ of what Quynh’s been through these past 500 years and he can’t tolerate another minute of it. 

But that’s not a choice he gets.

It takes a few more deaths after that to realize he’s still wearing his belt. 

Stupid mistake on their part. He manages to get it off his jeans before he drowns again, and it takes a second to remember what’s in his hand the next time he wakes.

He’s exhausted. But that doesn’t matter. All that matters is finding Nicky. The purpose drives him, every time he dies and comes back and dies and dies and dies. 

He doesn’t keep track. It could be minutes. Hours. Every time he comes back, spluttering bubbles, he has to remember what he was doing. Where he is and why- this would be easier if waking was easier on him. But it doesn’t matter. He gets a good few seconds every time, and that’s all he needs to make progress. 

Joe doesn’t pay attention to the scientist. Scientists. Scientist? He doesn’t know if it’s one or more or just a different one every time. He doesn’t have the time to waste on them. Or to check if they’re watching him. That doesn’t matter either. What are they going to do to him here, drown him again? As long as he can get out of the tank before they can shackle him again he can get out of here. That’s all he has to do.

He swims up every time he drowns, smashing the metal of the belt loop against the ceiling, aiming for the intake, the outtake, anything he can do to disastrously alter the pressure in the tank and make it burst. He knows enough to know that he can’t break that glass on his own, he can’t get enough force in the space and through the water, so he needs to make it break  _ itself _ . 

He drowns many more times trying to accomplish that.

\---

They’ve done the ‘pretend to get caught’ rescue thing before, but while Nicky’s  _ damn  _ glad to see Andy and Booker, he’s not sure this was the smartest plan for rescue.

“Where’s Joe?” asks Andy, though she’s covered in blood and… there’s something off about her as they wheel her and Booker in.

He can barely choke out the answer. “I don’t know.”

Both Booker and Andy’s gazes snap to him, simultaneously thinking the same two things: how much this must really hurt for Nicky, and this really complicates their escape.

“We get you out first. Then we find him. Together,” Andy says, gaze hardening.

Yeah but that means they need to get free first and Nicky’s done a shit job of that so far.

“It’s-” His throat closes off for a moment. “It’s really good to see you.”

Andy smiles that soft smile of hers. “Always.” 

And then winces, trying to double in on herself despite the restraints.

“What’s wrong?” Nicky asks, a chill washing through him. This is wrong. There’s something very wrong.

“She’s not healing,” says Booker, laying his head back on the bed. “I killed her.”

What? What the fuck does that mean?

“This is no time for a pity party,” Andy snarls. “You’re in here with the rest of us. So you better start thinking.  _ Fast. _ ”

Nicky stares at her. “You’re not healing,” he says. It doesn’t come out as a question so much as a horrified realization.

“No and  _ he’s  _ the bastard who shot me,” she answers.

He lunges up against his restraints, wanting desperately to get his hands around Booker’s throat. “ _ Why? _ ” he begs, intense, searing hurt beneath the word.

He did this to them? Their brother. He- Nicky can’t even complete the thought.

“I- I wanted to have the choice. I wanted  _ her _ to have the choice,” he says, voice soft.

_ “Where the fuck was my choice? Was Joe’s?”  _ he screams in Italian, echoing in the room. Still thrashing. Hands clenching as he pulls at the restraints.

Andy closes her eyes as the scientist starts doctoring her. Not sure how they’ll get out of this one. She fucked up. She fucked up so badly they might not get out.

Like Quyhn.

And then the gunshots sound. To a man they all stare at the door, no one more intently than Nicky.

The scientist ignores it, right up until the moment Nile steps through the door and puts a bullet in the woman’s head.

Nicky sags in his restraints, caught between the crushing disappointment that his Joe hasn’t returned. That Nicky still doesn’t know where he is. And the sheer rush of relief as his beautiful new sister walks through the door, looking every bit the immortal avenging angel.

She’ll do just fine, he thinks as she makes her way to Andy, talks her out of her despair, and hands her a gun.

Two more bodies at the door later, Andy’s letting him out of his restraints while Nile does the same with Booker.

“We’re taking that  _ bastardo _ with us?” Nicky growls. 

Andy sets her hand on his arm. Nods. “We are. He’s one of us. He’s an idiot, but he’s  _ our _ idiot. Understood?”

Nicky nods and goes in search of clothes. Ends up stripping one of the dead guys by the door. Takes his pistol too.

And finally turns to the traitor, once he’s dressed in mostly-fitting clothes with only a few holes in them. “You are dead to me until we find him. Understood?”

This time it’s Booker’s turn to nod. “We’ll get him back. Promise.”

Curse him for a fool, Nicky almost believes him. In any case, Booker seems to mean it.

They fight their way through waves of faceless soldiers. Armed assholes who did this to them. Nicky doesn’t spare them a thought as he cuts them down. Passes a better weapon to Nile. Takes a bullet or two or six for Andy. 

They find a staircase and has to head down. He can hear them coming up to meet him, and they’re close enough he needs to eliminate the threat rather than make a run for it. Takes point, hiding around a corner as the footfalls approach. The others tuck in behind him, choosing surprise over full assault.

The footfalls stop and Nicky can’t let them prepare. If they have a grenade or heavy artillery and they get a shot at Andy, she’s done. So he steps out, pistol trained ahead of him. And finds himself staring down the barrel of an automatic rifle.

\--- 

One death Joe’s gotten nowhere, and the next there’s suddenly a loud whine, a hiss, and then the pressure blows out his eardrums. “ _ Fuck! _ ” he screams, and swallows more water, but the pump’s overperforming, and the water’s smashing him down to the floor, and he just has to hope the tank gives before his body does because if he wakes up and they’ve chained him up again he’s going to bite someone’s fucking nose off-

There’s a cracking sound and he can’t tell if that’s his ribs or his heart or the tank and then the glass shatters all at once and spills him out onto the floor. 

He can’t hear anything - ears are still gone, then - but he sees the clamor of a lab tech stumbling into a cart, and he scrambles up to his feet. He’ll be damned if he lets a single ziptie get anywhere near his wrists again. 

Once he finds Nicky, he’ll suggest they go to a ziptie factory and burn the fucker to the ground in its off hours. 

But first he has to get out of here and get back to his love, his purpose, his everything. 

He looks for a weapon, doesn’t see any guns. But he does see a scalpel. Wonders idly if it was the one Merrick used to stab him over and over. Couldn’t be. He’s not in the same place. 

Joe grabs it, ignores the tech on the floor, and slams into the door. It’s locked. The impact dazes him, and he shakes his head.

“Keycard,” he says, his voice rough, to the tech.

The tech says something. He doesn’t hear it. He holds his hand out. “Keycard, or I’ll  _ take _ it from you.”

The tech scrambles to rip the badge-holder off their labcoat, and give it to him.

“Where’s Nicky,” he demands, staring at his lips, determined to understand something, even if he can’t hear it.

The tech’s answer is unintelligible. Fuck.

Joe pivots, scans the card at the door, watches it open, and sprints out into the hall. No idea where to go. How to find Nicky. He was just given the answer and his ruined ears couldn’t  _ hear _ it. 

A weapon. He needs a weapon first. 

He’s looking around for any - a whole private army and he can’t find a single wayward gun? - when he slams into a guard’s back, and- that’ll do.

Joe slices his neck open with the scalpel and divests him of his rifle. 

His hearing comes back just in time to hear the gurgle and the thud of the body hitting the floor. Of course it does. 

He takes off again, armed now, barefoot and he almost considers stopping to take off his soaking wet jeans but he doesn’t. Because he  _ will _ find Nicky, and it’s probably better if he doesn’t find him stark naked with a gun in his hands. 

He guns down a handful of guards - weren’t there more? He thought there were more - on his way to the elevators. They’re not working, not on this floor. Or they are, and his keycard doesn’t have the access - do they make their young employees take the stairs? This doesn’t matter either. 

He skids past the elevator and keeps going, looking for a stairwell. Up? Down? He doesn’t know yet. He’ll decide when he gets there. 

There’s one more squad guarding the stairwell, and he kills the three of them, taking one shot to his exposed side for his trouble. It heals by the time he’s done checking their harnesses for extra ammo, just grabbing a different gun in the end. 

Joe turns for the stairs, kicks the door open - ow, no shoes, right - and hears a clamor above him. He’s going to have to kill those guards before he can head down anyway, so he turns to run up the stairs, meet them before they see him, gun up and his finger on the trigger-

\---

The gun shakes in his hand. And then clatters to the floor, loud and echoing off the walls. He stares, eyes wide and glistening. At the last person he ever expected to see here. And the first person he  _ wants _ to see anywhere.

Joe almost fires. And then the gun falls out of Ni- out of  _ Nicky’s _ hands, and Joe drops his too, his hands suddenly shaking like they’re made of jelly. 

Andy’s around the corner in a heartbeat, gun pointed at- And instantly lowered as a smile spreads across her face. “Leave it to you to not need a rescue. You look good, Joe.”

Joe is beyond thought, beyond words, and all he can think is to call back to what started this whole mess and say, “you look okay,” with a smile. And then he’s skipping the next three stairs to fling himself at Nicky.

Nicky catches him, arms clenching tight around him as his eyes scrunch up tight and something claws out of his chest and he’s sobbing into Joe’s --wet,  _ naked _ \-- shoulder, a string of gibberish in heavily-accented-maybe-Italian? It doesn’t matter. He’s home.

The others flow around them, Nile sparing a glance as she passes to cover their backs. Booker looks guilty-yet-relieved. One more wrong, righted. By some power beyond him that’s a lot more merciful than he’s been, of late. He follows Nile, covering her as she moves.

Joe’s hand curls around the back of Nicky’s head, fingers scraping his scalp as he pulls him in and  _ holds _ , his own voice caught in his chest, the words slow to come. Keeps expecting to breathe in water, to drown again. But this time he’s drowning in relief, and as long as he holds onto Nicky, he’ll be okay. He’s dimly aware of Nile touching his arm as she passes, of her checking the floor he’d just come from for more enemies.

Nicky pulls back to search Joe’s face. “You’re alright? They didn’t-” Of course they did. Everything he’s imagined and worse. But it doesn’t matter. He’s here. Free. They’re together. And shoeless-shirtless in wet jeans has always been a good look on his lover. Odd thought to have, here and now. But oddly welcome too.

His lips crash down onto his love’s and the world stops. Nothing has ever mattered. Nothing ever will. 

Like this. 

Like him.

Joe meets him halfway, just as desperate, falling into him and kissing him like he thought he wouldn’t ever get the chance to again. He’d started to dread the worst. It’s going to take some time before it sinks in that he’s out. Safe. Safe-ish. His fingernails dig into Nicky’s arm, his shoulder, convincing himself he’s here. This isn’t a dream. He’s not dead again and again and- 

He’s here.

He finally breaks away. Squeezes Joe’s hand before bending to retrieve their guns. Flips the rifle and hands it butt-first to him before picking up his pistol. “Now. We getting out of here, or going after Merrick?”

Is Merrick even here.

“We don’t get Merrick now, he never stops coming after us,” Andy says, leaning over the rail to look down the flights below.

“Then we get Merrick,” Joe says simply, taking the gun that Nicky hands him. He has a word or three for that bastard. All of them spoken with his fists.

“Penthouse,” says Nile. “Guy with such shit taste in fashion? Always in a penthouse.”

They turn as one to head back upstairs. There will be less talking later. Touch and comfort and the warmth of their skin against each other. But first, they have to finish this.

“Told you I’d see you again,” Nicky says with a flash of a grin at Joe. As though it was never in doubt.

Joe laughs, that surprised little sound he makes only for Nicky. “So you did, love. So you did.”

**Author's Note:**

> wanna come fawn over the old guard with us? We've got a [discord!](https://discord.gg/kDJpjxx)


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